“And what means all that rumbling of wheels?” cried my Lady. She peeped through the window curtains. “The Baron’s carriage has come round!” she groaned. At this moment the door opened: a fat, furious face looked in: a voice, hoarse with passion, thundered out the words “My room is full of frogs—I leave you!”: and the door closed again. And still the noble Sonata went pealing through the room: but it was _Arthur’s_ masterly touch that roused the echoes, and thrilled my very soul with the tender music of the immortal ‘Sonata Pathetique’: and it was not till the last note had died away that the tired but happy traveler could bring himself to utter the words “good-night!” and to seek his much-needed pillow. CHAPTER VIII. A RIDE ON A LION. The next day glided away, pleasantly enough, partly in settling myself in my new quarters, and partly in strolling round the neighbourhood, under Arthur’s guidance, and trying to form a general idea of Elveston and its inhabitants. When five o’clock arrived, Arthur proposed—without any embarrassment this time—to take me with him up to ‘the Hall,’ in order that I might make acquaintance with the Earl of Ainslie, who had taken it for the season, and renew acquaintance with his daughter Lady Muriel. My first impressions of the gentle, dignified, and yet genial old man were entirely favourable: and the _real_ satisfaction that showed itself on his daughter’s face, as she met me with the words “this is indeed an unlooked-for pleasure!”, was very soothing for whatever remains of personal vanity the failures and disappointments of many long years, and much buffeting with a rough world, had left in me. Yet I noted, and was glad to note, evidence of a far deeper feeling than mere friendly regard, in her meeting with Arthur—though this was, as I gathered, an almost daily occurrence—and the conversation between them, in which the Earl and I were only occasional sharers, had an ease and a spontaneity rarely met with except between _very_ old friends: and, as I knew that they had not known each other for a longer period than the summer which was now rounding into autumn, I felt certain that ‘Love,’ and Love alone, could explain the phenomenon. “How convenient it would be,” Lady Muriel laughingly remarked, _à propos_ of my having insisted on saving her the trouble of carrying a cup of tea across the room to the Earl, “if cups of tea had no weight at all! Then perhaps ladies would _sometimes_ be permitted to carry them for short distances!” “One can easily imagine a situation,” said Arthur, “where things would _necessarily_ have no weight, relatively to each other, though each would have its usual weight, looked at by itself.” “Some desperate paradox!” said the Earl. “Tell us how it could be. We shall never guess it.”